


A Far Green Country Under a Swift Sunrise

by ProlixInSpace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blurissa is Eileen, Canon Compliant, Coda, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff, Happy Ending, Heaven, I had to write this, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, The fluffiest fluff, To Heal My Soul, Weddings, Yeah it's THAT fluffy, how it should have ended
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27696289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProlixInSpace/pseuds/ProlixInSpace
Summary: Finally, finally, finally, there is time for everything.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 114





	A Far Green Country Under a Swift Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> (To anyone wondering when I'm getting back to The Other Thing, the answer is: after this, I promise.)
> 
> Who asked for "Dean and Cas together in gay turbo-heaven" absolute superfluff? I cooked this up as medicine to soothe my heart, and post it in the hope that it might have the same effect on others. P.S. this follows the headcanon that Dean's "drive" is not one drive at all, but many.

It is the space of a blink, or a breath. Castiel says  _ goodbye, Dean,  _ the cold grasp of The Empty closes around him--

And before he even has time to really process the matter, it loosens. 

Jack is so bright, it is difficult at first for even Castiel to regard him, to hear his voice. Still, and even though Jack is not speaking to  _ him,  _ he tries his best to listen to the overlapping voices of divinity and love. He wonders if Joshua ever felt like this, or if perhaps this is even _more_ _. _

_ -͍̦͚̥͖̱͎̭-̮̼͍̟I̞̟̻N̞̩̥̮̬͙T̺̰͉E̹͓̪̟͉̖̞N̖̖̼̼͚D̰̻̟͈̱-̰̼̟͉̥͚̬̱-̞͔̫̫̠͇̫ͅ ̠̯͈͖̹̫͈̖Y͇͔̖̜O͔͓̩͇̦̰U̗̮͕̹̠͙̰̦ ͈̤̜̬R̻̦̮̹̘E̻͙̰̱̭̲͓S͈͔͚͙̩T̳̫̤̜͇͇̙̪-͓̲̝̝͇̝-̲̤̲̳͎̥̙H̫̱̩̙̖̫̘̩A͎̼̘V̥̙͎͈̳͎̬E̯̝̮͉͔͙̯ͅ ̹̻̱̼͖̱̩ͅT͈̱͍O̱̹̯͚ ̠̭̰̺͇͎͉̥ͅD͓̱̗͙̼̩O͍̬ ̬̻̯̼͈͙͕I͕͕̤͍̤̰S͉̳̫̱͎͈-̻͇̳͇͚͍̣̩̝-̲̪̲̘͚ _

Jack’s expression is obscured by infinite light, but The Entity at the other end of the retreating tendril of shining black must be able to see him. It goes from startled, to furious, passes briefly through frightened, and then looks around the dark they all now exist in, probing. 

“Everyone?” It says, with the face and voice still of someone Castiel once considered a dear friend. 

_ Y͔E̮͓̦S̟͕͙͓̩͓.̜̥ ̫̬̺͙͖̩ _

“But… what if--” The Entity struggles, and Castiel understands the reason. It may be a different type of energy that rests here, in contrast to what Castiel once consumed in the hope of defending what he ultimately destroyed, but it is power nevertheless. Clearly this is an insurance policy for it is loath to let slip away without some other assurance.

_ -̱̳̰̹̰̮-̭̻͎̻̩̮Y̖O͎̬͎̯̳͖̙͔̟U̻̫̥̹̯̞ ̹̝̤̞̻̦̫̤C͙̯̫̘A͙̥̥̭̤̱ͅN͇̺̹̞̲ ̘̞H̫̗̪͚̙O̥̘̜̠̟L͈̫̥̬̠D͎̳̻͍̤-͉͈̟-͕̼͎̫T̥̥͈͍̜̼O͎ ̺̮̙̘̘̤̦͔̹T̮̝̲̥̤̯͖H̬͍̘̤͈͓̠̗̣I̤̲͎̳̘̦̙̣ͅS̤-͓-̭͔Y͔̤̲̣̘̱O̼̳̱̥͍̦̟U̜͈̳R͖͈̖̮͇͍̺ ͙̪ͅA͚ͅL̲̟̯͔͉̖͎̗L̠̝̮̦̖̗Y̺̱-͙̥͇̯̞-̯A͙̝ ̭̯̗͚̙͔̮P̤ͅR͇̘O̤͉̬̝̝M͚̤I̩̩̳͕̭͙̗͇̦S̹̟̬̙͔̲̱̜ͅḚ̠͓̫̪-̥̟͈̼ͅ-͖̞̣̱̠ͅW̲̟͔͎͉̹͔I̹̬̫L̰̯̮͔L̳̞̭͔̖̬̫̮ ̫̖͙K̬̦̼͚E̟͈̤̤̲̖͓̱E̜̰̪̟P̳̞͉̥͕͙--̹͉ _

“I’ve heard that before,” it says, but its face seems to soften. 

Jack extends his wings, _ six _ of them, but not the ostentatious colors of any of the old archangels. 

Michael’s were the silver of swords, of mercury, and Lucifer’s the purest white. Gabriel’s glittered gold, and Raphael’s rich crimson.  If not for size, a feather of Jack’s could be mistaken for the simple gray of any number of earthly birds, soft and matte and entirely unassuming. Together though, they project stillness with untamable power beneath, like the sea on a cloudy day.

_ W͇H̜̺̩̺͈͚͓̩A͎̮̭͖̦̺͚T̮͚͖ ̹͉̯̗̩̤̠͕D̮̫͎̳ͅO̜̪̭ ͎̘̱̙̼Y̱̻̫̦͕͎O̥͔ͅͅU̺̣͚͖͇͍͓̠̳ ̮͚͓͕H̬͉͎̝͇̻̦̲ͅA̹V̞͇͇̭̼͍̥E̬̲̠̹ ̻̞̜̥T͎͖͉O̦͕̘̤̩̘̞ ̻̟̻L̗̜͓̝̫͖O̝̩͓̫͖̥͎̥S̜̗E̫̲͇̯͔͕̣ ̙̤̭B̲̞͈̠̗̼̣̬Y̥̞͎ ̳͙̻̼T̥̪R͚̙̦̼Y̼̟͎̫̬͙̪ͅI͈̙͕N̬͇͓͙̜̟G̪̲̹̹͙̣̣͓?͍̠̮͚̻̰ _

Tuning in more clearly now, Castiel hears a hint of Jack’s human fathers there. Even through the light, a smirk can be  _ felt. _ This is the gambit: it is still noisy here, The Entity is already struggling for control when all it wants to do is rest. It’s hard not to sympathize. 

In the end, desperation and exhaustion undoes anger and malice. The Entity steps into Jack’s light, which dims until he can be seen more clearly, holding The Entity’s borrowed form in a tight embrace, its face pressed into his shoulder, his eyes closed in beatific agency.

There is a stirring in the dark, and everything changes.

Castiel can sense Heaven before he can even see it. The walls are cracked, crumbling. Chunks of etheric material are strewn, obstacles that feel more real than the ceiling itself. Divine light stutters through the gaps, and leaves grow in a strange crawl into the formerly-sterile space. Castiel recognizes _ hymenaea allendis, _ a flower not seen on Earth for millions of years, but he has no time to say hello to an old friend.

Jack is here.

“Castiel! _ Dad.” _ Jack has always been there, and he just arrived. Castiel is wrapped in his arms and hugging back tightly, his own wings meeting Jack’s, feathers intertwining like fingers. “I came as soon as I could.”

“Jack,” answers Castiel, pulling away but only in part, a hand left on Jack’s shoulder as he looks him over. “You…”

It’s a lot to take in. 

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, flashing a toothy little smile. He taps his chest. “Amara is here too. In… in here. I’ve figured out how to let her come forward, even to look like herself if she wants to, for real balance. For now… she just says hi.” 

“Well, I say hello back.” He can’t keep his own face from grinning. “Jack, how?”

“You know.”

“Sam, and Dean, they--?”

“Because of them, yeah. It’s a… weird story, but… it ended well.”

A scoff escapes Castiel. “That sounds about right. What happened to The Empty?”

“I put it to sleep,” he says, nodding to himself. “The demons, I sent to Earth, as humans. I thought, they know how things work now. Maybe… they can get another chance. Some of the angels, too. Others are here, but I haven’t woken them up yet. Gabriel, Balthazar, Anna, Akobel, Hannah, Joshua, Samandriel, Ambriel, Ezekiel... I borrowed some of your memories. I hope that’s alright.”

“Jack, of course. Anything.”

He paces the broken place, his thoughts a tangle around him. “I picked the ones who seemed… most likely to help, to be open to something new, but I didn’t want to wake them, or bring any of the others back, until we were ready.”

Castiel tilts his head. “Ready?”

"Sam once said to me he thought everyone should have to wait tables once in their life, or work in a gas station late at night, so they know what it’s like. I think being an angel is like that. You, and I, we know what it’s like to be powerless, to love, to be part of something human. I think that matters.”

“That’s a… a kind thing to say.”

“If they do well, I’ll bring them back here, the rest of them. If not, being human should lead them to wherever they need to go. Until then…” Jack stops, and turns to Castiel. “We’ve got work to do.”

Jack, as it turns out,  _ truly  _ isn’t kidding.

It reminds Castiel of an old house he once saw Dean and Sam sleeping in, mid-renovation, in which some prior owner had put plastic flooring overtop of hardwood. The wood was beautiful and in excellent condition, needing only a bit of cleansing and oiling, but the linoleum covered it, scuffed and cheap, a shortcut to the hard work needed to maintain the love that had gone into the original design. 

They tear it all down. 

Every wall and everything it supports, each removal gives way to something beautiful and ancient, something growing beyond the boundaries that the old Heaven was comfortable with. Divine stone crumbles beneath his hands with the power Jack’s granted him, and he uncovers a  _ kachinus _ beetle that crawls onto his fingers. This time, he does stop to greet it. 

Day by day they work -- and Jack _ does  _ keep the days going to ensure that they can view their work in all lights and seasons, though how they correspond to the days on Earth is a mystery that even Castiel must concentrate to solve, resources better devoted to the task at hand.

They unbury beauty after beauty, doors and walls unsealed lead to meadows, woods, mountains, and shores, empty of souls, full instead of black humus and glittering lakes, littered with flora and fauna of the soil and the water and the sky, some long lost, even a few that never quite made it to the design of Earth, still waiting for names. 

Divine energy suffuses everything, there is an elation all the way to the deepest roots of Castiel’s grace each time he takes a bite of some growing fruit, or strokes the fur of a curious animal, or puts his hands in the dirt to draw out the future of a seed with the creative strength Jack has shared. It seeps into him, a steady flow through flesh that is as much  _ him _ as now any other form he might take, and it pools in the bones of his wings.

At first, he thinks they are only healing, regenerating, but the feeling doesn’t  _ stop  _ when every inky feather is restored. By the time that pleasant itch subsides, they are stronger than they’ve ever been. 

Whatever Jack shared with him when they arrived is not mere power, but something alive and growing, reflected in a dynamic shimmer of multicolored light that plays like an oil-slick reflection across the leading edge of each wing and down the length of his flight feathers. 

The walls now are almost a shock to touch in contrast to the Beyond, as he’s been calling it, dead barriers that once stood between angels and souls and the love and  _ life  _ outside.

“Chuck, he--” Castiel wonders under his breath, disintegrating another cold pale panel with the destructive power granted him by the Amara-Aspect. “He tried to keep us from this, or… this from us. I don’t understand.”

A ripple passes through Jack’s feathers, an instinct buried deep that speaks louder of his anxious grief than any words. Like Castiel (if for different reasons) Jack sees his body as himself, and opts not to bother changing his form here, outside of keeping the wings for comfort and convenience.

“All that matters is where we take things from here,” says Jack, rightly, with that layered composure Castiel is still getting used to.

They work from the outside in, a spiral tightening until it reaches the lands of souls, and by the time they reach it, they are ready, vast swaths well-prepared.

The souls don’t see Castiel and Jack as they step blinking into the light of Heaven’s Beyond, but Castiel and Jack watch _ them _ carefully, joyful pioneers, waking from a strange kind of slumber, breathing free air, finding loved ones through new senses, learning again to explore and experience. 

Humans, ever ingenious, discover quickly what they can do with the raw creation that surrounds them. 

Jack goes, and Castiel knows what he intends to do. The other angels have still not yet woken, and that will need all of his attention. 

In the meantime, Castiel attends to the details of Beyond. By the time Harvelle’s Roadhouse opens its doors, he can feel the slip and shift of time beneath his feet. 

Even so, even still with work to be done, he can’t help himself. 

The welcome he gets when he steps quietly through the doors is incredible. Ellen practically vaults over the bar, Bobby’s off his stool so abruptly he leaves it spinning in his wake, Rufus lingering behind to stop it with a hand.

Jo calls his name like a cheer, and Ash is across the room in a few heavy strides, throwing an arm over Castiel’s shoulders, ushering him in, opening right away with a shockingly accurate and complex analysis of the conditions in the Beyond and what he thinks he can do with them.

Ash, it turns out, has taught Charlie everything he knows, and they are two of the primary architects of the surprisingly complex and rich Roadhouse itself. (Hopefully they’ll be ready to greet a  _ second  _ Charlie, when her time comes. He suspects they will.)

Even Pamela lifts her glass to him, from the table where she sits with Missouri, who gives him a wave. Alicia and her mother linger over the pinball machine, interrupting their challenge only briefly to give him a nod.

Perhaps Castiel has time to stay for a drink, after all.

Ellen pours him a shot and a beer, but he leaves it on the table long enough to gather Kevin’s hands in his own to apologize, but Kevin stops him with a smile. 

“Things had to be the way they were,” Kevin says, sounding more like a prophet than ever. “We wouldn’t be here any other way, would we?”

How long does he spend, listening to their stories and sharing his own? It’s hard to say, he gets so caught up.

Before he leaves, he gives them one simple missive: 

“Be there for him.”

“Us? What about you?” Ellen insists, giving him a light scolding snap on the arm. “Now I know we’re nothing to sneeze at, but I’ll be damned if I don’t remember what it was like with the two of you, back in the day. I’d bet anything you’re the one he’ll want to see.”

“He’ll find me, when he’s ready,” he assures.

Castiel spreads his wings and takes off, the sidereal breeze in his feathers a feeling he will never take for granted again, not now, and not after a hundred billion flights.

He doesn’t go far. Castiel reaches below him, his path deliberately carving a drivable road through the mountains, skirting the thick, dark canopy of trees, sending them marching to the flanks of the new path.

If he’d never been on the road with Dean, he’d never have seen the importance of it, but his experience has taught him the comfort and value of highway peeling away with a soothing hum beneath a set of tires. Heaven will never be Heaven to Dean without a road to to travel.

On the other side of the first ridge, the mountain steps gently to a lowland marked by an enormous blue lake filling the rocky bottom of the valley. Mist rolls through knifelike conifers and eddies across the surface, so cool and clear Castiel can see the almost  _ absurd  _ variety of creatures making a home there. 

Fish in every size and shape and color dart among fallen logs that now spread their branches underwater, freshwater eels make their homes in piles of stones, turtles glide through the water as silent and soft as owls in the air. The little tide strokes the pebbled shore with a whisper, and in the distance, a leucistic elk dips its head to drink.

On this beach, Castiel builds his own little home, his nest, perhaps. A far cry from the styles of Heaven-before, he uses the wood of the mountain to build a cabin, a little dock, and two chairs to put at the end of it. Thick, ornate rugs and wall-hangings add to the warmth imparted by a large fireplace. For all that there are few needs here, he knows what humans enjoy and what they are accustomed to, and he provides. 

The water pressure is excellent.

Castiel isn’t even done making up his mind about the contents of the bookshelves when he feels it. 

It’s soon,  _ so  _ soon it breaks his heart. He’d hoped Dean would live long and happy, enjoying everything he most loves and dying of… well, considering Dean, probably his cholesterol or maybe his liver, but hopefully at an appropriate old age. Castiel imagined him serving in a role not unlike Bobby’s -- he certainly had the demeanor, especially as he’s grown older. 

When he reaches across to where Dean has arrived, he can trace back his path and see how he came to be here, and he grieves for the years Dean couldn’t have on Earth.

Hardly a moment seems to pass before a familiar engine-tone approaches, accompanied by wheels crunching over the gravel path Castiel has laid between the mountain road and his nest. The sound is beautiful, it is music to him.

Still, this too is a surprise. He’d imagined Dean would need more time to consider if he wanted to see him again.

There is hardly time to step outside and down to the drive, Dean is already out of the car and slamming the door as furious as Castiel has ever seen him. 

“Hello, Dean,” he greets, a little helpless.

“Hey!” Dean shouts across the space between them, not a greeting but an accusation. If anyone could find cause to get angry in heaven, it would surely be Dean Winchester. “You dense son-of-a-bitch!”

“I--”

“No, Cas! Don't even-- ” Dean scolds, crossing around the car and up the steps onto the porch in just a couple long strides. “You’ve done  _ enough _ talking.”

He goes quiet, unsure what else to do.

Dean goes on with a jabbing finger: “I know you did what you had to, but do you have  _ any idea  _ what that…” He stops, swallows. His eyes are damp and his voice cracks when he finishes, “...What that did to  _ me?  _ I couldn’t--Cas, I never--”

“I’m… sorry.”

“If you’d have bothered to say anything when you  _ weren’t  _ about to die--” Tears collect in Dean’s eyes. He tries to steel himself, but his hand still shakes. “You don’t know _ anything  _ about what you can and can’t have, you stupid--” He stops himself with a harsh breath.

All the fire drains out of him. He looks around, suddenly uncertain. When Castiel puts a hand on his arm to steady him, Dean takes it as an invitation and collapses against him in a desperate hug Castiel returns wholeheartedly. 

“This isn’t fair, man,” Dean says in Castiel’s ear before pulling back, his face now wet with tears shed onto Castiel’s shoulder. “I just want to be pissed that you left me again and I--I just can’t, I’m too--” He stops to laugh at himself. “I’m too damn happy to see you. Geez, look at me. But you were so fucking wrong I don’t even know where to start.”

“Wrong?”

“It’s not even like I can say you  _ can  _ have me, damnit, ‘cause you already  _ do.  _ I don’t know when, or why you never said anything, or how you never _ noticed _ that I--” He flexes his hands. “Now I’m telling you. So… no excuses. No dying, no disappearing.”

Castiel wants to point out that Dean _ also  _ never said anything, but the words stick in his mouth. And anyway, it isn’t as if he isn’t rapidly coming to understand  _ why. _

“You changed me too,” Dean goes on, thankfully saving Castiel from having to respond yet. “You gotta know that. All that good you see in me, I don’t think I could have become that without you. And every time you died, or whatever, you never saw, but every single goddamned time, it was worse, and harder, and I kept swearing to myself I was gonna tell you and then I never did. I never thought angels  _ could  _ feel… this way, and there was never time. But now I know, and I’ve got all the time in the world, so--” He swallows. “I love you too.”

It’s difficult to have a conversation like this, because teasing apart the longing, the love, the anger, the loss, the relief, all of the feelings from the words, is like undoing the braid of a rope while it’s in the process of wrapping all around him. He’s learned the hard way that responding to the wrong unspoken thing at the wrong time is a sure way to make people uncomfortable, which is the last thing he wants to risk. 

“I want to show--” Dean is in his space, then, his hands nervous, but warm and rough on Castiel’s face. “Is this--” 

Castiel tries to say  _ yes,  _ because of course it’s more than okay, but his voice fails him, it comes out a hoarse whisper.

He palms the back of Dean’s neck, just at the base of his head. It’s funny, he wouldn’t have expected Dean would  _ taste  _ like anything, but he does, like watery beer layered over sweetened coffee. (The fact that Castiel can taste at all is one of his favorite changes to things, now more than ever before.)

His heart flutters and he pulls closer, his other hand at first hesitant and then firm on the small of Dean’s back, pulling a gasp from both of them. With a short, sharp hum, Dean drops a hand to grasp at the lapel of Castiel’s coat.

The kiss ends with both of them gasping and flushed at the neck, mirroring one another’s loose, watery smiles. Dean tips his head forward, hand sliding up into Castiel’s hair as their foreheads touch. Castiel finds he likes this just as much as kissing.

“Damn,” Dean says, a little breathless. He glances down at the beige fabric in his hand “I missed this stupid coat. Missed you. Now I feel even dumber, not doing that sooner.”

“You said yourself,” Castiel murmurs in return. “We have all the time we need.”

Dean pulls back enough to nod fluidly and look around, his posture somehow unburdened, now. “All this yours?” 

“I suppose.” Castiel looks around too, his gaze drifting to the two chairs on the dock. “It’s a kind of retreat. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I did… have you in mind. It isn’t quite finished, I didn’t think you’d be here so soon. You don’t have to stay, of course, or visit any more often you want, but I hoped you might like--”

“‘Course I want to stay, Cas.” It almost sounds like a gentle scold. “But you’re missing something.”

“Hm?”

“No boat. And no wal-mart, so we’ll have to build one for ourselves.” The idea puts a thoughtful smile on Dean’s face, and makes Castiel wonder what else Dean might like to try constructing here, if maybe he could find purpose helping people even in Heaven.

Castiel smiles, his eyes crinkling. “We can do that. There’s also a lot to explore, more than  _ I’ve _ even seen, yet. If you’d like to see it, I… could go with you.”

Dean looks him up and down. “Damn well better.”

* * *

The morning that Castiel feels the shift, he wakes first. Neither of them have any need to sleep anymore, strictly speaking, but both of them would miss it, skin against skin, entangled under the sheets. It helps that there are no nightmares here. The Beyond’s sun warms Dean’s skin and highlights his lashes and his freckles. 

“Dean,” Castiel murmurs, inches from him, his thumb stroking the stubble on Dean’s jaw.

“Hmm?” Dean rises to consciousness bit by bit. 

The light bounces green inside Dean’s eyes when they open, and Castiel watches them focus, a smile stretching Dean’s mouth as he pulls Castiel closer in their drowsy embrace and buries his face in Castiel’s neck. 

“What is it?” Dean asks, lips moving against Castiel’s skin in a way that gives him goosepimples. When the blanket slips off him as he shifts, Castiel replaces it with a wing, and Dean strokes his fingers idly through the feathers.

Time moves differently here, so it’s been hard to gauge how much time they have for their project. Together, they’ve built a second home on the lake -- far enough for privacy, but close enough for frequent cookouts -- with Dean directing every detail, driving out into the woods often (with Castiel flying overhead to expand the roads as needed) in search of the right material. 

When Castiel notes Sam may have changed in his preferences, Dean just says that Sam can change things himself, then, which is certainly true enough. 

Every so often, Castiel does check in with Sam, though he doesn’t make his presence known. If it bothers Jack, well… Jack certainly doesn’t complain. Castiel kept Dean abreast of the news: Sam’s wedding to Eileen, Dean’s namesake nephew, but there was never any telling how long would have passed between one glance at Earth and the next.

It’s an accomplishment, in a way, for a hunter to die of cancer.

“Today’s the day,” Castiel says.

Dean pulls back sharply. “Sam?”

Castiel nods. “I can… sense the movement of the reaper.”

He can feel Dean’s heart flutter, but he doesn’t say anything, he only nods and slips out of bed, dressing in clothes he’s had folded on a chair for decades, in earth time. 

“You think he’s gonna like it?” Dean says, of the place they built. 

“As you said: if he doesn’t--”

“Yeah, but--”

“I think he’ll like it,” Castiel assures. 

“Gonna be a _wild_ party at the Roadhouse later,” Dean says. Wistfully, thermos in hand, he comments on his way out the door: “Hey. Guess what we’re gonna have again?”

“What?” Castiel tilts his head.

“One ethereal god, one family man, one salty ex-hunter, and one assistant manager of paradise.”

_ Team Free Will. _

* * *

It isn’t unusual for them to take the boat out on starry nights, often lying in the bottom of it, listening to the water brush and knock the wood, Castiel telling Dean trivia about the stars and space until he drifts off to sleep. 

This time seems no different at first, Dean kicking away from the dock and rowing out onto the black lake, still and mirroring the sky above. That’s one of Castiel’s favorite parts, the way it looks like they’re floating through the sky itself.

“Cas?” Dean says, gathering Castiel’s attention back from the ripples in the sky-reflection. “I uh… I wanted to say something. Ask something.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know if this means anything to you, ‘cause you’re not… human, but I made that mistake before, and I’m not doing it again. This time, I’m gonna just use my words and find out. But you’re not… I mean, there’s no pressure, okay?”

“Of course,” Castiel says, and means it, though there’s something in Dean’s posture suggestive of anxiety, and it’s hard not to feel it himself in response. 

“Seriously, this isn’t… a big deal, if you don’t want to be. I know we’re good. Great. You get it. It’s not like anything really changes either way, I just--”

“Dean.” Castel reaches across the space between the benches in the boat to put a hand on the side of his shoulder. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“I know. I still… Okay. I know.” He takes a deep breath and reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket. 

Dean draws out a little wooden box.

Some time back, their little retreat was expanded with a workshop, where Dean’s been hard at work both physically and metaphysically, expanding the roster of his creative skills and experimenting with what he can do. For the most part, Castiel has left him to his own devices unless specifically requested.

Now, he sees at least one of the reasons why. Dean’s clearly whittled and polished the box himself, with olive wood. Castiel tries to remember the last time they’d gone to any part of Beyond with olive trees, and settles on  _ not recently.  _

“Open it,” Dean says, handing it to him. 

Gingerly, reverently, Castiel tilts back the hinged top to reveal a simple ebony ring, with a deep-set cabochon of--

“Indicolite,” Castiel says out loud, brushing his finger over it. “It’s… stunning.”

“I know it doesn’t make that much difference, we’re here, it’s not like anything’s gonna change what we’ve got, I just thought, you know, it might be fun, if we… well, if you wanted to… to marry me? And, really, if you don’t, it’s fi--”

“Of course I do.”

Dean exhales in open relief. 

Castiel leans across the space to kiss Dean, who pulls him right off the bench and sends them tumbling to the boat bottom so suddenly they nearly capsize, laughing all the while.

Dean leans on his elbow, hovering over Castiel, the glittering sky a perfect backdrop to his face.

“You know you were stuck with me either way, right?” Dean jokes, scattering kisses around the corner of Castiel’s mouth and leaving it tingling.

“I suspected as much.”

“But it’s a good excuse for a party, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a tux.”

“What makes you think I’ll wear a tuxedo?” Castiel deadpans, drawing Dean’s free hand up to his mouth and pressing his lips against Dean’s fingers and palm in a way that he’s learned makes Dean’s heart flutter and his collar flush. 

When Dean tries to distract him with an ordinary kiss, Castiel swipes his tongue across Dean’s lower lip.

“‘Cause you gotta,” Dean says, a little breathier than before. 

“Well,” Castiel agrees, brushing his nose against Dean’s. “In  _ that _ case.”

Only later does Castiel realize that Dean’s waited until, as Ellen put it, _the gang’s all here --_ that he must have been considering this since he _got_ the materials, but timed it long after they’ve welcomed Eileen, Jody, Donna, all the girls and their families, young nephew-Dean, everyone they loved in life who didn’t beat them here. Even Crowley, and Meg as well, have completed the Jack-given time as a human and managed to join them, and the original group of angels Jack rescued are well-oriented and have _plenty_ of free time for an enormous celebration that apparently _every last one of them_ saw coming a mile away. 

Jack even gives Rowena what Dean calls  _ a day-pass to the Heaven resort _ , at Dean’s sincere request.

On the day, with Jack himself presiding under an arch of flowers, they kiss in front of everyone who had a hand in getting them this far. Castiel realizes that Dean waited for the same reason he does everything: out of love. He didn’t want  _ anyone _ to miss this, and because of everything they all worked for, in the end, no one has to.

**Author's Note:**

> The (proper) end.


End file.
